I Got Responsibility

I Will Never Forget the Lesson I Learned at Unthank Park!

I started the day early, and now I look at 3:30 pm. Recently, the word “responsibility” has invaded my thoughts with uncomfortable regularity. To me responsibility mainly means “the dumb stuff I gotta do.” For some reason at the rose garden where I go to meditate and relax  “responsibility” came to mind.

Oh great, I thought and promptly put RESPONSIBILITY out of mind to enjoy the wonder on the face of a little, red-haired boy charging toward the fountain. A young girl warmed her hands Starbucks style as she waited for her boyfriend. I felt the chill spring wind attempt to evaporate sweat from the small of my bicycling back. Shivering, I tried to describe that purple color of a rose bush with new leaves and decided that someone should put together a book of colors for people like myself. I vowed to see if anyone has a color name for rose bush purple.

“Responsibility!” My mind screamed.

A quiet voice in refrain whispered, “Response Ability—the ability to respond.” It all suddenly made sense. Responsibility has nothing to do with my list of dumb things I gotta do. Responsibility has everything to do with me. It's about me being able to respond to shifting schedules, perplexing priorities, and increasing input.

So today I woke up with a that all responsible feeling. I had an idea of the things I wanted to accomplish. I felt suddenly tired. My stomach hurt. “Okay, I guess that I now get to test my new theory.” I really had little time to run to my rose garden for further instruction. “Right. I must know what I need to know.”

I breathed deeply. “Focus on your ability to repond. Focus not on the things you need to accomplish.” I jumped aboard my bicycle with camera, journal, and my list. I swear that the list felt heavier than the camera and journal combined. I have a simple kind of mind. “Focus on the journal and camera.” I knew that in those two items I could foster my response ability. The list would have to take second place to them.

Cherry blossoms covered my yellow brick road. “Hey, how's it going?” I chimed to the girl who piston-ed by me in high gear. She ignored me. I kicked into a higher gear to catch her and another rider. “Hey, how's it going?” I surprised the second girl. She smiled. By the time we caught the third rider, things had started to pick up in the interaction category. I had to turn off about the time they started to talk to one another.

I arrived at the office first. A good-looking young man arrived shortly after me. I asked him about the logo on his coat. “Someone gave the coat to me.” He looked away and went silent. I took the hint and continued to write in my journal. Suddenly the atmosphere changed. “I got it at this Christian homeless shelter. They let me do laundry there, and this guy gave me the coat. I couldn't even do laundry. They let me do laundry. Can you believe it? They let me do laundry.”

I could tell that they their kindness had touched him deeply. A guard unlocked the office door. Then my cautious friend just walked over, introduced himself, and started shaking my hand. The receptionist smiled. It felt like the whole world smiled. People suddenly sprang into action to help me. The receptionist gently lead me through a complex, computer process with a cheesy grin. This referral guy gave me a packet of contacts, and as I got ready to leave he gave me his card. “Hey, contact me anytime.”

I would like to say that my day took off from there. Actually, I had plans to find this new restaurant to do an feature on them for my Internet writing gig. I couldn't find it. Normally I would freak and scream. “I failed to get this dumb thing done.”

This Message Written in Blood
I kid you not.  For me?

I went to a park, took pictures, and wrote in my journal. Then I walked to four or five businesses in the area. I came away with six to eight article ideas, contact information, and a reason to come back next week. Responsibility—the ability to respond. I did it!!! I fostered my ability to respond, and respond I did even when stuff fell through. It started with me reaching out to fellow riders and my cautious friend. It continued when I chose to enjoy rather than freak. You know, I like enjoy better.

Riding back home I threaded my way between two storm fronts. North of me rain clouds burst on the already flooded Columbia River. Southward clouds soaked Lloyd Center shopping center and I5. I rode relatively dry in a slight back splash from both systems.r Firing up the computer at home, I had a number of surprising, encouraging emails of some import. Did the clouds, the bureaucracy, and business community suddenly smile upon me?

Well, yes...I really think so. Call me crazy. It really felt just like that. I understand; however, that something had also changed in me.I GOT RESPONSIBILITY.  

p.s. Sometimes I cry when I write.  Today I cry.

Warming Up

Through the years I have discovered that this writer needs a warm up before getting down to my writing projects. I use my blog as that place to stretch my mind and heart. It all starts with a bit of coffee, some inspirational music, and a place to watch the world wake. I try to engage all my five senses in active observation with the goal of inviting my muse into my writing world. For you, Dear Reader, the pedalingwriterblog gives you a look into the sometimes peculiar mind of this particular writer.

In good weather I make Peninsula Rose Garden my blogging spot. We've had a cool, wet spring in Oregon. Consequently, I sit today in the library at Concordia University. Outside fifteen guys work on Concordia's new athletic complex. I recently have thought about buildings and what they represent. In particular I think about the human energy contained in each brick. Even in an age of machinery each brick goes through human hands powered by human energy and spirit. Men lift, trowel, measure, place, and pat. These guys pour their lives into this building. I want to publicly thank you. I say “guys” because today I only see males; however, I want to thank you ladies also.

Two F15's streak out of Portland Air National Guard and quickly disappear into a cloud left over from last night's rain. The weather site promised a few hours of sunshine before the next front. Bully breezes push trees around outside my window. I could use a sail about now but am glad to find myself doing what I love most i.e. writing. I've pushed hard this week. Today, I want to regroup and rethink.

A Place to Play

My muse loves me and likes to spend our time together playing with words. I do wish my editor would just accept her. She always walks out of the room when he says the word “deadline.” I have to keep them apart. Consequently, I split my time between them. I go to her for inspiration. With her I refer to myself as an “aspiring writer.” In his presence I call myself the “perspiring writer.” They need each other without realizing it. She guides my creative self. He pays the bills. I guess it works well.

Blood, Sweat, and Beers

Building built with blood, sweat, and beers

Human toil

on compacted soil

thank you, Mr. Hard Hat

climb, measure, lift, bend

through rain, sleet, wind

Your monument more than material

energy encapsulated

in brick and mortar you participated

I'll not forget the you in this building

built with blood, sweat, and beers

your human toil

on compacted soil.

"Okay, Ms. Muse I've some work to do. No, don't go.” I want you by my side. I have a word building to build, and when complete, I want the world to see you in the midst and mist. I'll look to you often.